


Runaway Train

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform, wooden spoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 14: Time.  Dean makes the mistake of getting huffy about how much time Sam’s spending researching with John and Bobby.  Sam spanks Dean, and... wait for it... Bobby spanks Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway Train

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Dean scuffs his toe angrily in the dust on the front porch. Sam’s been closeted with their dad and Bobby for days now, and frankly, he’s bored. Sam hasn’t been any fun at night, not even sneaking kisses in the dark like usual, he’s fallen straight asleep. Dean’s about had it with that, too. He goes up to bed sullenly, without a word to John, where he waits for Sam to lay down. When the boy does, Dean strokes his hair wordlessly as the tired eyes flutter closed. Sam’s had more headaches than usual, too, Dean guesses they must be working on translating the volume that Dad and Bobby went to Jim’s for. Once Sam’s asleep, he determinedly slips out of bed and stalks downstairs to where Dad and Bobby are still sitting by the fireplace, a scowl plastered on his face.

John is startled out of the calm lassitude of his conversation, his face registering surprise at seeing his oldest son out of bed and sporting a definite attitude problem.

“I want to know what you’re fucking researching,” Dean says with determination, a rude drawl marring the usual tone of his voice.

Bobby looks the boy up and down with narrowed eyes, and answers before John finishes frowning and counting to ten. “Binding for a demon.”

“Thought we were on downtime, Dad.” Dean leans a little heavy on the last word, and John has to start counting all over again. He’s used to the attitude from Sam, but he finds it excruciatingly annoying from Dean. John takes a deep breath, trying to reclaim the calm of earlier.

“What have I always told you boys to do when you’ve got the time? I ever suggest you learn new things, Dean? Answer me.” His tone is subtle, just shy of drill sergeant, and Dean knows his reply will either calm his dad down into discussing it, or wind him up into full Marine mode, and he’s not sure which he wants.

“So why don’t you want my help?” He’s aware he sounds whiny and petulant.

“And how much interest have you ever shown in research? How many times have I sat and watched you fidget and roll your eyes at your brother? He needs to focus, Dean, not spend his time being annoyed at you. And that goes for all of us,” John says warningly.

Dean doesn’t like the answer, and turns around to leave the room, shoulders set and angry, deciding he’s not in the mood for a confrontation, not with the way both the older men are looking at him. John’s faster though, grabbing Dean’s arm so he can give the kid a stern look that Dean won’t miss.

“Sorry.” It’s just a mutter, but John’s tired enough to take it. He’s not in the mood to argue with his son, preferring the relaxation he and Bobby had been getting to. He thinks to himself that with Dean’s attitude, if this continues he’ll have his son over his knee, and he’s never keen on that idea.

“I imagine so. Now get back up to bed.” He gives Dean a couple of sharp swats on the ass as the boy goes out the door, punctuating the last words, glad when the boy goes instead of arguing.

Bobby chuckles as John sits down. “Don’t see that very often. Surprised you didn’t take care of that, Johnny.”

John wipes a tired hand over his face, and grabs another beer for both of them from the kitchen, rolling his eyes when Bobby chuckles.

Upstairs, Dean throws himself on the bed hard and fast, waking his younger brother.

“Dean?”

“Shut up, Sam.” He practically snarls the words, vibrating with frustration.

That wakes Sam right up. “What the hell? Dean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean’s lying down, arms crossed across his chest. He’s not going to get all emotional over the fact that Sam hasn’t had time for him. Fuck that.

“The fuck, Dean. Tell me.”

“Just go to sleep Sam.”

“Dude, what the hell happened between the time I came to bed and now?”

“Nothing, Sam.” He learned a long time ago that it’s impossible to shut Sam up when he gets like this, and he moves into plan B, because if he doesn’t, they’ll be fighting, and then there will really be hell to pay from John.

“Dean.”

Dean just turns his back, and they lie in silence for a long time, until Sam realizes that Dean’s asleep. Any vestiges of his own sleepiness are gone, wound up in irritation, even though he’s exhausted. It’s his turn to pad downstairs, but his look is more puzzled. The room downstairs is warmer than their bedroom, making him feel a little sleepier, and the sounds of the older men’s voices are soothing. He steps quietly into the room, feeling himself relax a little. Whatever’s bugging Dean, it’s not under John’s skin at least.

“Dad?”

John turns, a sort of wry annoyance flooding him. He never put up with the boys being out of bed in the night when they were small, but these days there’s not much he can do, unless they’re sick or wounded. It’s best to leave the smaller arguments, sometimes, and he knows it. But Sam looks wrung out and exhausted, and it’s worth a try, he figures, so he makes sure his voice is quiet, no different than it was when he was talking with Bobby a few moments ago.

“You should be sleeping, Sam. You need the rest.”

“You argue with Dean?”

“Just get to bed.”

Sam pauses, obviously not about to obey, yet just as obviously thinking. “I haven’t had a lot of time to spend with him.”

That gives John pause, along with the disparity between Sam’s perfectly respectful tone, and the frown creasing his forehead.

“You upset about that?”

Sam looks puzzled, and rubs at his head. “No – I told you, I want to finish-“

Bobby interrupts. “Son, you have a headache?”

Sam nods. “Get ‘em all the time. Dean-“

Bobby points to the hearth. “Sit.”

Sam’s confused, tired, and achy, but he sits anyhow. The fire feels good on the back of his neck. John’s frowning, tips the boy’s chin up to look at his eyes, which are tired and bloodshot. Bobby hands the kid a full glass of water and a pair of aspirin, which Sam obediently swallows, draining the glass. John studies his son.

“Sam, take a break tomorrow morning, go for a run with Dean, do a little training.”

“Dad, I can-“

“No. Break.”

“Do we have to run?” John chuckles. There’s his boy. He rubs the thick muscles in the back of Sam’s neck, soothing the tension away.

“Do something at least, you’ve been at that desk for three days. Getting out of condition,” he says gruffly, and Sam looks relieved. Bobby hands him a second glass of water.

“Finish that and get to bed, Sam. John and I, we’re going to go out in the morning, get that reference you need. You need to remind us old geezers that you’re used to running around, not parked at a desk all day straining your eyes over old books – no, don’t argue, Sam. Get up to bed now.” Bobby’s just as quiet and kind as he’s always been, and Sam’s just plain tired, feeling sleepy with John’s warm hand on the back of his neck. John takes the empty glass from him as he turns to go.

“Good boy,” John murmurs, though Sam doesn’t seem to hear, starting up the stairs.

Dean’s still in a sour mood in the morning, and shoves at Sam to wake him. Sam blinks in the sunlight, the headache hasn’t completely eased, though some stretching, or a hike might do it. He turns to smile at Dean, and is instantly offended by the look on his older brother’s face. He listens, the house is quiet, meaning John and Bobby are out already. Fine. Dean’s already giving him the stink-eye, the one that usually precedes Dean complaining about Sam’s “bitchface”. Whatever. He’s going to deal with this before Dean drives him crazy.

“Cut the crap, Dean. I don’t pull this shit when you and Dad are out in the field together for days.”

“Pull what?” Dean’s sneering at him, and Sam’s had it. He moves lightning fast, fueled by his irritation, and the wrestling match is brief as a result. He’s got Dean pinned over his knee quickly, yanks Dean’s sweats down, starts spanking as hard and fast as he can. He’s not holding back, and Dean’s hard pressed not to howl, because fuck, apparently Sam is just as heavy handed as John when he wants to be. Though Dean wishes fervently as the spanking goes on that whatever leaf Sam's borrowed from John’s book, he’d quit reading it. Listening to Sam lecture and enduring the spanking is a bit much, and he gives in sooner than his mood might have wanted. Finally Sam tires, his headache worse, and he lets his now sheepish brother up. He tries not to smile at the thought that he didn’t think his eyes could take much more of the glowing red of Dean’s ass, though the handprints were damn attractive.

“I’m not putting up it, Dean,” he growls. “Bad enough I have Dad and Bobby grilling me about some of the stuff I know about the rituals, you can fuck yourself if you think you’re gonna shit on me too.”

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, face bright red.

“Are you?”

Dean looks up, trying to let his eyes speak for himself, and Sam grumbles and leaves the room. Dean’s not sure how he feels about that, follows Sam downstairs and outside, snagging the kid’s jacket, which Sam always forgets to put on this time of year. They walk in silence for a good while, head back to the house around lunchtime.

“How come you’re not with them,” Dean asks, finally. His annoyance hasn’t gone entirely, but it’s more… manageable now. Though he’s going to remember that it’s possible to literally spank some of the attitude out of someone.

“Thought I needed a break,” Sam says, and Dean nods. No kidding. They tromp inside, to find the older men back from their errand, Bobby laying out lunch on the table. They change out of their muddy clothes, Dean snagging a pair of thin flannel pants to lounge in. Maybe he can at least keep them company in the library, Bobby’s got good taste, surely there’s a book or two around he can read.

John monopolizes the lunch conversation, asking Sam more questions about the reference books, which quickly has Dean lost. They’ve barely finished before John’s sending Sam into the library, and a rather dramatic sigh escapes Dean. Bobby’s washing up, and John gives Dean a pointed look as he leaves the room, tossing out an order.

“You can bring some firewood in, make sure that cord is stacked out in the woodshed. Looks like some kindling needs to be split, too, son.”

There goes that idea. “Bastard,” he mutters under his breath, and then he’s yelping, because Bobby’s got him bent over the kitchen table smacking his ass with an enormous wooden spoon. His butt is absolutely on fire, the wooden spoon on top of the spanking Sam gave him not three hours ago is like to kill him any minute, the thin flannel is no protection from the assault. He’s blushing for what seems like the millionth time today as Bobby lets him up.

“You mind your manners, son. Your daddy doesn’t need the backtalk, you know that. You need something, you ask. Now go apologize.”

“Yessir,” he mumbles, not quite meeting Bobby’s eyes. The man’s right, and he’ll do it, before he’s over his dad’s knee too – another spanking’s the last thing his ass needs right now. He just hopes the apology doesn’t prompt one.  
He opens the door and heads on in, because there’s no time like the present to try to turn a runaway train around.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Melissa Ferrick - Drive


End file.
